


Parched Canvas

by Thighz



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Feel-good, Light-Hearted, M/M, Painting, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 00:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighz/pseuds/Thighz
Summary: Markus wants to paint again. On his own terms. With his own inspiration. He may have found just that.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> _Enjoy ___

 

  **Part One**

 

 

 

 

Markus doesn’t go inside Carl’s studio for almost a month after he’s been give the mansion. He’s still a little wary of the paperwork he signed and the surprise that came with Carl naming him owner of the estate. The whole deal had been locked in a stalemate while Markus was leading the revolution and Leo got nothing.

So after signing, he opened the large, sprawling home to wayward Androids who needed a place to pass through before starting their new lives.

The studio doors remained closed and Markus cleared the home of the things that reminded him of Carl. Not out of guilt, but sadness. Those small reminders that Carl was gone and human life was so very fleeting.

North asks him what’s behind the door on a Tuesday afternoon. She’s lounging on the sofa, flipping through the TV channels, bare feet over the arm. Simon is reading a book in an armchair by the bay window. Simon can hear Josh rummaging around in the kitchen.

He’s at the piano, debating a tune and pointedly ignoring the doors to his right.

“What’s in there?” She asks.

Markus glances up from the keys of the piano, “Carl’s studio.”

“Can I see?” Her tone is familiar, eager and flirtatious. All things that fascinated him in the beginning of their friendship, but now he recognizes the difference.

Simon looks  up from his book, “Markus will show us when he’s ready.”

Markus hides his grateful smile behind the music sheets. He can hear the soft snort North gives and Simon casts him a thoughtful look before returning to his book.

Simon. Simon. Simon.

Sweet Simon who took androids under his wing and kept them as comfortable as he could until Markus fell from the sky.

Simon who steadfastly followed Markus through every part of the revolution. Who gave up his heart and ensured Markus survived through each trial. Who supported him and helped around the house and gave Markus the distance he needed on the days he missed Carl the most.

But also resilient Simon. Who stood his ground and put a steady, firm hand on Markus’ shoulder and insisted they not resort to violence.

_We are exactly who they want us to be if we take that path._

  


-

  


He opens the studio on a Sunday morning.

He doesn’t linger, doesn’t look at Carl’s last work still hanging behind a dusty curtain. He grabs a small sketchbook and a handful of pencils from a shelf by the paint and returns to the living room.

Simon is back in his armchair, a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him and another large book in his lap.

Markus pauses on the way to the back garden, “Are you drinking coffee?”

Simon shakes his head, “I like the smell.”

Markus tightens his fingers around the book in his hand and all thoughts of painting the garden fly away. He settles on the couch instead, putting a leg over one knee and balancing the book best he can.

He sketches out the rigid, perfect lines of Simon’s shape first. Made soft by the clothes he wears now, pale sweaters and pants that aren’t dirty or pressed in a perfect line. The shadows and light from the window come next, then the table and the coffee and the book between those clever hands.

Markus wants to paint him, the blonde of his hair and the blue of his eyes and the sunshine casting crystal and rainbows through the glass of the window.

He also wants to paint him without the book. Without the coffee. Without the sweater and the pants. He wants him wrapped in silk sheets or laid out for Markus’ touch, painting the blank skin where his hands graze and mixing it against the pale flesh he was designed with.

The door behind him creaks open and he quickly snaps the book shut.

“Got a few new people in the foyer, Markus.” Josh says, “North is corralling them into the sitting room.”

“I’ll be right there.” Markus tucks the sketchbook under his arm as he rises.

“Need any help?” Simon asks.

Markus shakes his head and smiles, “No. Read your book.”

  


-

  
  


North gives up on him on a Friday.

“You’re never going to return my feeling are you?” She sighs, hair braided over her shoulder today and looking mildly irritated.

Markus contemplates his answer, “What I feel for you is akin to love, but not the kind of love you want.”

She brushes a strand of loose hair from her face and crosses her arms over her chest, looking off to the side, “Yea. I figured.”

“I thought I did, at first.” Markus admits.

“Yea.” She mutters, “Is there someone else?”

Simon comes to mind first. Markus must make a face at the thought of him because North laughs sourly.

“Predictable.”

“I _am_ sorry, North.” He wishes he could pull her into his arms. He’s done it before, a dozen times it seems, but his instincts tell him it won’t be welcome for a long while.

“Don’t apologize for not feeling the same you idiot.” She punches his arm, “Just don’t wait too long or you’ll end up alone forever.”

He watches her leave the room, waits until the door clicks shut. Then, he walks to his bedside table and picks up the sketchbook. A pencil rolls off the top as he lifts it, flipping through pages filled with nothing but Simon.

Simon in his chair. In the garden. Sitting with new androids. Helping Josh in the kitchen. Playing chess in the corner with Luther.

He runs his fingers over the etchings.

  


-

  


He brings Simon into the studio on a Saturday.

It’s raining outside and thunder rumbles in the distance. The sound of it is soothing, the ambiance and muted greys are perfect for painting shadows.

He hovers near Simon, who is once again in his chair, watching the rain slip down the window. The book is closed on his lap, green sweater sleeves nearly covering the entirety of his hands.

“Can I paint you?” Markus asks.

Simon startles and looks up at him, eyes wide, “W-what?”

Markus smiles, slow and confident, “Can I paint you?”

A flush forms over the bridge of Simon’s nose as his mouth works soundlessly, “I - I don’t think I’d be much of a subject.” He laughs nervously, fingers clenching around the book in his lap, “Maybe North?”

Markus shakes his head, “You’re perfect. Please?” He puts his hand out between them, hoping Simon will take it. Anxiety spikes for a split second, unfamiliar and new even this long after becoming deviant.

Simon places the book on the table and sets his palm against Markus’. Their flesh melts away to white and grey, a tingle of emotion ripples through his core.

_Nerves. Worry. Excitement. Affection._

He pulls Simon across the living room and through the double doors of the studio.

“Wow.” Simon breathes, eyes roaming over the art and layout of the studio, “This place is amazing.”

Markus leads him to a dark blue chaise lounge near the rear of the studio. He’s already set up the canvas and paint a few feet away.

Simon hesitates at the chair, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” Markus laughs and urges him forward, “Sit.”

Simon sits down, stiffly, hands on his lap as his eyes wander around the various paintings. He looks uneasy, nervous.

“Markus, I don’t think I’ll be a very good subject.” Simon fiddles with his fingers, “Maybe a human subject would be better?”

Markus studies him for a long moment, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Human art usually depicts the form as imperfect and realistic.” Simon muses, “Androids have perfect form.”

“All you need to do is relax.” Markus sets his paint back down and walks to stand in front of Simon again, “Close your eyes.”

Simon does as he told, head tipped up and a half-smile at the edge of his mouth. He’s still tense, but there’s a trust in his posture. A trust not everyone is given lightly.

Markus eyes the rise of his cheekbones, artificial, but beautiful. The pale line of his neck is tantalizing and - mouthwatering. A new feeling. He reaches out, fingers pressing beneath Simon’s jaw and down the rise of his throat.

Simon’s body hitches, lashes fluttering against his cheek. The hands in his lap curl into the fabric of his pants, thighs pressing tighter together. His lips part when Markus reaches the collar of his sweater, “Markus?” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“Relax.” Markus sets a hand on his his shoulder, “Lean into the chair. Lay down. Whatever feels comfortable.”

Simon chuckles nervously, “Not exactly something we’re used to doing.”

“True.” Markus agrees, “But you’ve relaxed before. I’ve seen it.”

Simon cracks an eye open curiously, “I have?”

“When you read.” Markus smiles, “By the window.”

“Oh.” Simon opens both eyes now.

“I’ve drawn you before.” Markus admits easily, “I have a whole sketchbook of you.”

Simon’s lips part in surprise, “Really?”

“I’ll show you later.” He squeezes Simon’s shoulder, “Still up for this?”

“Would you like me to go sit in my chair?” Simon’s tone is playful, flirtatious.

This time Markus can tell the difference between his emotional responses. With North, it was confusing and neutral. Now, it lights him up from the inside and he wants - he _wants_ -

Simon makes a soft, simple sound as their lips meet. It tingles, skin retracting as their synthetic flesh melds together. His hand smooths over Simon’s shoulder and up to curl in the hair at the back of his head. One of Simon’s hands touches his side, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Their mouths part and close, heads tilting to adjust the angle. Simon’s other hand curls to mirror the first. He tugs and Markus follows, feeling the spread of Simon’s legs as he moves to stand between them.

“Markus.” Simon breathes into the kiss.

Markus groans, his free hand joining the other in Simon’s hair.

The kiss lasts for a long while, they don’t need to breathe and Simon’s muted sounds only encourages him to lengthen it. If only to hear more.

By the time he pulls away, Simon’s skin is flushed blue and his eyes flutter open in wonder.

“Lie down, Simon.” Markus noses along his cheek, he can feel the heat rising to the surface, “Let me paint you.”

Simon just nods, seemingly in a daze.

Markus steps back slowly, then twists around to head towards the canvas. He picks up the paint, returning his gaze to Simon.

Simon pats at the fabric of the chair for a moment, adjusting his body until it’s laid out in a reclining position against the back of the chair. He still looks odd, awkward, but oddly human in his own way.

“Ready?” Markus grins.

“As I’ll ever be.” Simon laughs.

  


-

  
  


Markus comes back online near dawn. Or what he assumes would be dawn. It’s still storming outside and the room is dark and grey from the lack of sunlight.

The sheets feel warm against his skin and how amazing it is to feel it at all. To know sensation outside of what he was programed to feel.

A body shifts beside him and he turns his head.

Simon’s back is a glorious slope of skin, freckled and smooth. The blankets are only up above his hips and he’s naked, Markus knows. He’s the one who made sure of it.

He runs his fingers down the synthetic vertebrae of Simon’s spine and his skin parts in wake. Simon hums and shifts, body rippling as he wakes.

Markus puts his mouth to a shoulder and inhales the metal and thirum scent of him. He closes his eyes and replays the memory of the night before.

Simon’s hands gliding over his chest, arms, legs. The way he sounds when he reaches that slippery slope of pleasure. How he says Markus’ name, blue eyes wide and mouth eager against his own.

“We have new androids to see to today.” Simon mumbles, “We don’t have time.”

“There’s always time.” Markus pouts, nipping at the same spot on his shoulder and enjoying the shiver of skin.

“They still count on you to be their leader.” Simon twists around to lay on his back, chest bare and perfect.

Markus holds himself up on an elbow, “I’m not the only face of the revolution, Simon. You and Josh and North helped.”

“Yea.” Simon drags his fingers over Markus’ lips, over the curve of his chin, “But yours is the one they remembered. You _made_ them remember.”

“Silly.” Markus mumbles, dipping down for a slow, easy kiss, “Yours is the only one I remember.”

Simon’s laugh is vibrant, “Cheesy.”

Markus smiles, “You love it.”

Simon’s laugh filters away and his hand finds Markus’, fingers curling together and palms meeting. The flesh melts away again and Markus feels his insides hitch and vibrate with emotion.

_Love. Love you. Have always loved you. Don't ever want to lose you._

Markus squeezes the hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss the knuckles, “I’m yours, Simon.”

  


End

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Markus convinces Simon to pose nude.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad everyone enjoyed the first part of this! These boys deserve some rest, they've had a long journey.
> 
> This one isn't quite as long as the other, but I hope it's just as enjoyable.
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy >/i>_

**Part Two**

 

 

 

 

  
  


Androids don’t need to sleep; or at least not the way a human does.

So, there’s really no excuse for Simon to enjoy lounging in bed on sunday mornings. Yet here he is, doing that very thing. 

Perhaps that’s the deviant inside of him. The part that’s slowly becoming  _ human. _

He likes the feel of Markus’ sheets and the dip of mattress under his back. The pillows are memory foam, the room smells of lavender and the sun has long past risen.

He stretches his feet out, toes grazing the underside of the sheet and skin still sensitive from the night before.

Markus isn’t in bed, having gotten up and dressed hours ago claiming an errand to run. He did placate Simon’s pout with a kiss and a promise to go for a walk in the park later.

Which brings him to laying in bed for half the morning, listening to the sounds of the house.

There are five new androids down the hall now, all milling around in their rooms, unsure of what to do next with their lives. They can be anyone or anything now and it can be a scary concept in a world where not everyone is on board with androids being free.

Markus is still fighting for more rights every day. They all are.

But for now, Simon, North and Josh can give them small forms of comfort before turning them out into the wide world.

He really should get up. His internal clock tells him it’s well past ten and Markus should be returning any second. Though he doubts Markus will make much fuss about Simon still being naked in their bed.

Simon stretches his arms above his head and closes his eyes. Everything is still, quiet. No creaking metal or soft cries of the dying. No more musty, wet spaces and androids begging to stay alive for just a moment longer.

This moment here, with the blankets tangled around his legs and the memory of Markus beside him, is perfect.

If this is a dream, Simon never wants to wake up.

The door slides open with a soft hiss.

“You’re still in bed.” Markus’ tone is surprise and a little amused.

Simon just smiles, doesn’t open his eyes, “What’s the expression humans use? ‘You wore me out last night’?”

“If an android  _ could _ be worn out.” Markus replies.

Simon hums and stretches again, unnecessarily, but he knows Markus is watching and in this private space, he doesn’t need to shy away. There are no other eyes watching them, judging them.

“I’m getting up.” Simon begins to pull the blankets off with his toes, “I swear.”

“No.” Markus’ voice halts his movements, startles him into opening his eyes and finally looking towards the edge of the bed.

Markus is in simple clothing. Jeans, a red shirt, a jacket tossed over one of his forearms. Clearly he meant to bring it to the closet to hang up.

His eyes are intense, two distinct colors narrowed in on the synthetic skin Simon revealed in his half-attempt at pulling the sheets off. Markus looks hungry, not for food, no, androids don’t require that either.

“Stay there.” Markus mutters, heading for the closet and carefully hanging his jacket on the rack within.

Simon does as he’s told. He leaves his arms above his head and returns to staring at the ceiling as he listens to Markus’ retreating footsteps. The door hisses shut not soon after. 

A visiting android gives Markus a jovial hello in the hallway beyond. Markus replies with a soft speech and warm welcome.

At one point, during the beginning of their relationship, Simon will admit to a shy, burning jealousy he felt when people interacted with Markus. The feelings were confusing and disastrous to Simon’s already shaky mental state. Markus wasn’t  _ his _ and he had no claim on someone who quite literally fell into their lives. Yet, the jealousy stayed, through the entire revolution.

He was no stranger to how bright Markus shined in his leadership role. Nor could he fault so many androids for seeing the beacon in him.

A few months ago, he wouldn’t have even dreamed of being where he is now.

He always assumed it would be North in his place.

The door to their room slides open again not ten minutes later and Markus walks back through carrying a small canvas portrait, an easel, and a metal bucket of assorted pencils.

Simon pushes up to his elbows quickly, “What is that for?”

Markus sets up the easel at the foot of their bed and props the bucket on a clotted section of the sheets, “I’m going to draw you again.”

Simon smiles faintly, “Why?”

“Because you look good in our bed.” Markus replies easily, sorting through the different pencil shades. He picks two out, setting one over the curve of his ear and the other poised in his dominant hand, “Lay back down.” He points the end of the pencil at him.

Simon lowers himself into the bed again, suddenly nervous and unsure about posing for another picture. He barely made it through the last one. He wasn’t - relaxed enough to look the way a painted subject should.

“We really need to get you a human subject.” Simon mutters.

“Why?” Markus asks, “I have you.” He peeks around the canvas, “Hands above your head.”

Simon swears he can feel his blood rush at the order. His skin tingles and ripples with pleasure as he obeys.

Then, all he can hear is the soft movement of pencil over canvas. It lulls him and he’s half-ready to drop into stasis again when Markus says, “Spread your legs.”

_ Now _ he can feel all the blood rush to his face, “ _ Oh gosh, why? _ ”

Markus laughs in a burst, sending another tingling sensation through Simon’s synapses.

“I like the way it looks. Please?”

Simon lets out a huff of a sigh and spreads his legs flat across the bed. It pulls the blankets further down to his knees, exposing the limited features of his body. Self-consciousness floods him as the air in the room alerts him to a cooler temperature. His processor adjusts.

“Hmm.” Markus’ eyes slide up and down his naked form, “No. Not like that.”

“Then how?” Simon asks in exasperation.

Markus sets the pencil on the lip of the easel, then steps forward and puts a knee on the edge of the bed. He crawls across the space between them, a smirk pulling slowly at the corner of his mouth.

Simon’s body hums in response, knees lifting and spreading automatically to absorb the weight of his lover.

Markus sets a palm on Simon’s ankle, skin melting away as it drags up his calf, and around to grip his thigh.

Simon inhales sharply, watching as Markus fits perfectly between his legs.

His free hand lifts and wiggles in the air, Simon can see the smudges from holding the pencils. He also knows exactly what Markus is going to do next.

“No.” Simon wiggles, “Don’t you dare. You’re supposed to be drawing me.”

Markus hums, mismatched eyes crinkling in the corners with a smile. His fingers touch the smooth skin above his armpit, drifting and gliding over the dip of his elbow, over his wrist, until his fingers close in between Simon’s own.

The connection is instant and overwhelming.

Simon moans, eyes squeezing shut as an influx of  _ look how beautiful you are - spread out for me - I could do anything and you’d let me -  _ passes from Markus to himself.

It nearly overheats his processor. He gasps and writhes under the weight of Markus’ body, can feel lips dragging over his cheek to rest at his ear.

“Stay like this.” Markus murmurs.

His fingers unwind from Simon’s and he pats the bare thigh in his grasp once before climbing backwards off the bed.

Simon pants at the ceiling, eyes wide and body on fire. He feels loose and unhinged. His toes are curled into the sheets and his knees are bent and spread out. 

“Don’t move.” Markus orders.

The sound of pencil and canvas begins again.

Simon closes his eyes and holds on tight to the multiple sensations rippling across his deviant senses. Everything is magnified - electric - he feels - 

He feels -

Alive.

He feels alive.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Markus teasing Simon. It gets my motor going.
> 
> Next time: Simon builds up the courage to tease in return.


End file.
